Teaming Our Teacher Read online

  Teaming Our Teacher

  by Yamila Abraham

  Copyright © 2016 Yamila Abraham. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, digital, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner. All characters depicted in this work are over 18 years old (except the baby).

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  1 New Students

  2 Disruptions

  3 Class Erotique

  4 Father

  5 Dungeon

  6 Rodney

  7 News

  8 Author

  9 More

  10 Glossary

  1 New Students

  I want to suck your cock.

  Professor Blackbourne clenched his teeth. The brazen words had been written by Lionel Carlson. The student had turned in a description of his term project for him to approve. In the final line which asked, ‘Is there anything else you wish to tell me?’ Lionel decided to scribble down the lewd comment.

  He scratched his pen over the words until they were blacked out, cutting through the paper as he did.

  “Cheeky twit.” He said this beneath his breath.

  He should have expected as much from President Carlson’s son. The fiendish founder of the school was a notorious lecher who’d groped Blackbourne’s ass on two notable occasions. The first time shocked him more than outraged. He’d presumed the sly middle-aged millionaire only harassed his female faculty. The second time his bottom was given a full-handed squeeze, venturing deep enough between his legs to nudge a testicle, Blackbourne felt like confronting him.

  “Oh? You fancy me, President? How about I pin you against the wall of that fine office of yours and shag your narrow ass til it aches?”

  Of course he’d never uttered the words. A desire to retain his high-paying job outweighed his need for vindication.

  Now he’d been saddled with not one, but two of the university president’s miserable sons. The Carlson twins, old for freshmen due to the years they delayed their education, planted themselves front and center in his Art History class. Their slackened postures, widely splayed legs, and the smug grins on their identical faces forewarned of a trying semester. The comment on Lionel Carlson’s very first assignment was a crude introduction to the headaches to follow.

  He flipped to the next paper in his stack. Rodney Carlson, brother to the first, outlined a paper on Dutch painters of the Renaissance. Just as with Lionel's paper, everything was acceptable until he got to the last line.

  Me too.

  “Bleeding hell!” He once again scratched out the words with enough fervor to tear the sheet.

  Hecklers and hooligans he could handle. He’d had plenty experience during his years teaching at a Higher Ed facility. Why did Carlson’s sons choose to harass him in such an intimate manner?

  Could it be for the same reason their father groped him? For the same reason he’d gotten the lofty tenured professorship in the first place? People said he looked like a dark-haired David Bowie at the height of the singer’s beauty. He had a regally chiseled face framed by long black tresses of hair. His body, though lean, was well-defined with muscles due to his dominant position in a local netball league.

  Blackbourne was fully cognizant of his looks. He had no qualms about using them to advance his career, nor to assist in his frequent conquests. He’d exhausted the supply of attractive young women interested in one-night flings in his borough. Now, having moved on to men, he found his trysts more exciting. He’d still define himself as bisexual, but his tastes had swayed dramatically toward the masculine.

  Perhaps President Carlson knew this? It’s not as if many secrets could be kept in the Borough of Rigsby—population 980, except when university was in session and it rose to 8,000. Nearly all the permanent residents were on a first name basis.

  If Carlson knew of his extracurricular activities then his sons surely had the knowledge also.

  In that case…could their lewd advances be sincere?

  “Wretched nuisance.” He shook his head with a grimace.

  Blackbourne took his tea in the faculty lounge prior to his afternoon class. The league scores in their minuscule district's paper captured his focus. He didn't notice when President Carlson sauntered in.

  “So. How are my boys getting on in your Art History class?”

  Blackbourne stiffened. He turned to look at the stately white-haired president. He’d paired a tailored suit-jacket with blue jeans. The former stretched over imposing broad shoulders.

  He cleared his throat. “They’re a good pair of hoodlums, I’d say.”

  Carlson burst with a short laugh. Then his face curled into a malevolent grin. “Do tell, Professor.”

  Blackbourne scoffed and turned back to his paper. “Nothing worth the telling.”

  Carlson pulled out the chair beside him, causing the legs to scrape over stone tile. He sat and rested his folded hands on the table. Blackbourne pretended to ignore him.

  “They’re quite rambunctious, my boys. They’ve got my spirit.”

  He restrained a sneer. “I’ll say.”

  “They quite fancy you, as well.”

  Blackbourne gave him a look of shocked indignation. The President’s face remained cunning.

  “Took quite a bit to get them to see to their education. Too many pleasures for them on the Continent. I had to convince them there were some worthy pursuits at our lovely Uni as well. Such as this one bloke, handsome bachelor professor, mid-thirties, and quite the reveler.”

  Blackbourne’s shock metamorphosized into anger, while the indignation remained. “What in God’s name are you saying?”

  Carlson righted in his seat. His grin shifted to a look of smugness. “I’m saying my dear boys have finally come home. I should like them to stay there. They’re antsy buggers, though. They need to be amused.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Say it plain, Carlson. I’d like to have an unambiguous quote for my complaint with the EHRC.”

  Carlson laughed again, this time with greater mirth. “That’s a cold empty threat and you know it.”

  He dragged back the seat again to stand. Blackbourne hoped he was leaving. Instead, he came around behind him and placed a hand on his shoulder.

  “Besides. I’m not asking you to do something so much as I’m giving you permission.”

  Blackbourne blinked.

  “There’s a seat opening in the Honors Commission, you know, with O’Toole retiring. Quite a generous stipend with that.”

  What in blazes are you doing, you old prick? Blackbourne’s heart was racing.

  “I should like to award the seat to someone...” He leaned down to speak into Blackbourne’s ear. “…close to the family.”

  “You’re a sick one.”

  Carlson stood straight and patted his shoulder. “I’ve been called worse.” He headed for the lounge door.

  “I don’t give two shits for your bloody commission seat!”

  Carlson turned back to him and once again flashed the cruel grin. “It’s not a bribe. Just a perk. You could always remain as you are.” Something in his eyes darkened. “But if you think to humiliate my boys, well, that would be unforgivable.” He left.

  Blackbourne stared at the door with his face contorted in a scowl. Rubbish like this was bound to happen with such a crooked man at the helm. He wondered how many other faculty members would join him if really did go to EHRC.

  He sipped his tea after a repulsed groan. Not a bloody one. The pay was too good. The job, too cushy. His harassment barely registered compared to how terribly he was overworked at his low-paying Higher Ed position.

  He’d be damned if he went back to a job like that.

  Frankly, if Carlson had said, ‘Let my boys suck you off or you’re sacked,’ he would have cursed the man lower than Hell…

  But he would have eventually dropped his trousers.

  2 Disruptions

  “Michelangelo’s sculptures followed the same idealized principles established by the ancient Greeks,” Blackbourne said to the class of twenty students from behind his lectern. “As you can see on page 118, his David is perfectly proportioned. Muscular and yet balanced. The face follows a formula of symmetry considered to be…”

  “And he’s got a teeny wang,” Lionel Carlson said. Rodney erupted with a snort beside him. A few more students tittered behind them.

  “That’s quite enough out of both of you!”

  “Hold on now.” Rodney held his book open for Blackbourne to see. “It’s small as anything. How’s that proportion for you?”

  “That’s covered in another bloody lesson!”

  Lionel feigned a wounded look. “That’s all you had to say, then,” Lionel said. He lowered his head and looked up coyly with gleaming blue eyes.

  “Why are you always yelling at us?” Rodney said, matching his brother’s innocent tone. “You know you’re our favorite prof.”

  “Now. Then,” Blackbourne said through his teeth. He forced himself to c
ontinue the lecture.

  The last three classes the twins had limited themselves to only one such disruption per class. Blackbourne had expected worse. He realized their goal was to get his attention. There was little more they could manage in the confines of a populated classroom.

  Their disruptions weren’t pure cheekiness, but a show of confidence. The question of proportions drew a valid point. They’d gained wisdom during their intermission of travel through the Continent.

  Blackbourne grudgingly admitted they were his best students. The first essay test wasn’t open book, but they touched on all the points he sought—even one he’d omitted from the lectures. This meant they’d actually read ahead in the text. In the past, only teacher's pets sought to impress him this way.

  Is that what the twins aspired to be? His pets?

  Get your mind out of the rubbish bin.

  “How’s the statue of David so huge then?” Rodney asked while Blackbourne jotted a list of bullet points on the white board.

  He glared at him over his shoulder.

  “Ain’t he s’posed to be a little chap, and Goliath the huge one?”

  Blackbourne parried the thought of engaging Rodney in his mind. (Or was it Lionel?) He was unsure if he truly meant to explore the subject, or if it was the start of another disruption.

  “Was it a political thing, then?” Lionel (or was it Rodney?) said. “Them saying that even though they were the underdogs they were strong as all that?”

  Blackbourne continued to glare at them. The twins looked back at him with their sweetest expressions. Both boys were attractive blonds, with strapping tall bodies and azure blue eyes.

  “Yes. That’s exactly what it was.” Blackbourne turned back to his whiteboard. “It was Florence asserting their independence.”

  A few weeks in he graded yet another essay test after class. An extra credit question was to discuss the aesthetic merits of a piece of art presented in class. Lionel got perfect marks on the test. Blackbourne saw that he used the back of a page for the extra credit.

  The best piece of art I’ve seen in class is you, mate. You’ve got a body like the statue of David, and a face like Cellini’s Perseus.

  Cellini? They hadn’t covered him. The impudent boy was better traveled than him.

  The difference between you and a statue is that you ooze pure sex. You walk around class like a Calvin Klein model, with your gorgeous blue eyes seeking out answers. Pouty lips aching for a kiss or a cock. You’ve got an ass that stretches your trousers on the humps of the cheeks. More than a handful of sexy round flesh.

  Blackbourne paused to groan.

  I see that bulge in your trousers, fighting against the seam. Poor thing needs to be let out.

  I could suck you to the skim milk, Prof, and Rodney wants to rim you out. He’s real good at that, trust me.

  He rested his face on his hand. Just how does he know that?

  If he gets you good and relaxed maybe I could fuck you? I’ll be gentle, nice and slow, with plenty of lube. I’ll make it as good for you as it is for me.

  What’s the harm? My father already told you to go on with it. And let’s face it—you need a good hard fuck. You’re wound up tighter than a whalebone corset. I’m young and hung, prime ass. We’d have fun, the three of us.

  Blackbourne proceeded to scratch out the words with his pen. He did it meticulously this time. There was no tear to the paper.

  Of course, Rodney continued his refrain on his own paper.

  I’ll rim you so good your toes will curl. If you don’t want to let Lionel fuck your ass, you can fuck me. I’m really tight, Professor. Having your cock in me will make me squirm. You can ram me like a call-girl. Make me your little bitch.

  That did it. He pushed the shaft of his cock into his trouser leg so it had room to expand. Damn them.

  When you’re ready for the best threesome fuck of your life just give us a signal. We’ll stay after class and lock the door. Come on now, don’t be all craven about it. Ain’t like we’re blushing virgins. We’ve got more wild sex on our tally sheet than you do. Let us show you a thing or three.

  Blackbourne didn’t allow himself to read anymore enticement. His pen blacked out the words until there was no ink left.

  He couldn’t compel himself to read the next paper in his pile.

  The brothers wanted him together? Were they incestuous?

  Blackbourne leaned back in his chair with his hand to his chin. What of their father encouraging him to fuck them? He hadn’t considered the implications before. How far did their illicitness go?

  He got a picture in his mind of the twins embracing. Their dense blond tendrils of hair were sultry on their beautiful heads. Their lips joined and hot wet tongues entwined. They roamed their hands over each other’s naked bodies. Then Rodney turned and bent over his desk, begging the other to fuck him. Lionel gripped his pale hips and plunged his swollen cock deep inside.

  Fuck!

  He had a full erection now. What was he thinking?

  The little bastards had polluted his mind.

  3 Class Erotique

  Over the weekend thoughts of the sultry boys continued to plague his mind. He yanked his swollen cock twice Friday night and then again on Sunday. When he closed his eyes he saw the boys glistening blue eyes. The words from their papers reverberated in his head in their voices.

  He pictured himself with a hot wet mouth on his cock, and an equally hot tongue working the tender ring of his anus. The fantasy gave him shudders. His spent cock twitched and then thickened. Even his nipples hardened.

  They’d toyed with him from the very start, with their lewd words on the first paper. They set the tone of the game and played it on those terms. Their desires were something he would have walled himself away from with cement brick…if not for…

  Their father. Who baited him and eliminated the threat of reprisal. No. Not just that. He encouraged him to ‘amuse’ them. He even offered incentive!

  Class after class the boys cajoled him. He was made to be a rabbit before two wolves ready to pounce. And so brazenly did they pursue him! By God, they’d spelled out the terms of engagement.

  He tried to take his mind from them. It protested, as did his cock, but he found no guilt in self-pleasure. Thoughts were only that, unless he turned them to action. He had no intention of doing that.

  Right?

  On Monday morning he caught himself fastidiously scrubbing his asshole in the shower. Blackbourne froze at the realization. What? Was he preparing himself for the boy’s tongue?

  And yet, he continued to make himself immaculate.

  One never knows.

  Oh, bullocks! You damn well know. You’re not one to be manipulated by smug over-entitled twits!

  Thankfully his class that day did not involve a lecture they could interject their whims upon. He set up a film on the Renaissance and turned off the lights. Only the large television screen illuminated the room. Blackbourne sat at his desk facing the class to grade papers.

  A few minutes into it, he felt heat on his face. He looked up to see that the twins, the sole occupants of the front row, were watching him instead of the movie.

  Blackbourne scowled at them. He tipped his head toward the television to signal them.

  Lionel’s red tongue slid out of his mouth and slowly over his top lip, making it gleam. Blackbourne became stricken by the sight. His cock hardened enough to make its denim sheathe painful.

  The other twin caught his eye. His white dress shirt had been halfway unbuttoned. Rodney drew it open to expose a creamy expanse of flesh. His nipple, a perfect salmon-colored circle peaked with a dark nipple, came starkly into view. He circled the nub with one slender finger.

  Blackbourne’s eyes bulged. He had to reach down to push his cock into his trouser leg, despite being harrowingly obvious the second his hand moved off his desk. Both boys smiled at his reaction.

  He knew his face had to have reddened. Anger was the only vessel he could hide his arousal in. He produced an expression of fury and mouthed the words, ‘Stop it!’

  Rodney responded by blowing him a sultry kiss. Lionel’s hand moved below his desk, which was truly just a chair with a small writing space attached, and began to fondle his crotch.

  Blackbourne looked away. His quickened heaves for breath had to be visible to both boys.